


Scrunyun?

by fixitforme



Category: Fargo (2014)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-24
Updated: 2014-06-24
Packaged: 2018-02-06 01:27:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1839358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fixitforme/pseuds/fixitforme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>based on the little deleted scene I wish they would have kept.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Scrunyun?

**Author's Note:**

> based on the little deleted scene I wish they would have kept.

It’s early in the morning when Wrench and Numbers begin to make their way into Bemidji, Minnesota. The sun shines brightly on their faces in the car, enough to make Numbers put on his sunglasses. He appreciates the warmth the sun brings, however, and thinks that it would be a bit more comfortable if their car’s heater weren’t mediocre at best.

 

Numbers tilts his head toward the window, trying desperately to entertain himself, but the scenery is dreadfully boring. Nothing but sheets of snow and power lines for miles. Numbers can feel the car turning and looks back toward the road as Wrench exits the highway and pulls into a gas station. Normally he’d be a touch annoyed at stopping right before they reach their destination, but Numbers’ stomach growls angrily.

 

Numbers bounces on his toes to get his blood flowing while waiting for Wrench to start pumping gas. There are times when Wrench has no sense of time and will often move as slow as possible. This is one of those times.

 

_‘I’d love to stand out here and admire the landscape all day but I’m fucking hungry.’_ Numbers signs.

 

Wrench glares at him. He isn’t a morning person as it is and has already been driving for three hours. His eyes clearly say _don’t push it,_ so Numbers doesn’t and stands quietly until Wrench starts walking toward the door.

 

The gas station is tiny and gritty, full of strange knick-knacks and odd wooden signs that one would hang in their home. Wrench grabs a bag of sunflower seeds and a styrofoam cup to spit the shells in. Numbers already has a bag of Scrunyuns opened in his hand, smiling when Wrench catches him eating.

 

_‘I don’t think you’re supposed to do that.’_ ’ Wrench signs with feigned annoyance.

 

Numbers taps the gun in his coat pocket jokingly. _‘What are they going to do about it?’_

Just as they move toward the counter to pay for their things, a couple of young men in storm inside; black panty hose over their faces. Numbers looks back toward Wrench, who shrugs. One of the thieves starts yelling at the cashier to empty the register, while the other is watching the door.

 

The longer Numbers watches them try to rob the place, the angrier he gets. These are the sort of men he hates. The sort of men he kills. Wrench can see Numbers’ playful expression turn to that of hatred and vengeance and nods his head, telling his partner to do whatever it is he needs to do. Because while Numbers hates morally corrupt men, Wrench does just as much.

 

Numbers removes the gun from his coat slowly, briefly making eye contact with the gas station attendant who is shaking in fear. He places the gun in his now empty chip bag and pretends to clear his throat.

 

The thief at the counter whirls around, oblivious to the fact that there are other people in the store besides himself and his partner. Numbers smiles through his teeth at the man’s stupidity.

“Sorry, sorry,” Numbers pats his chest as he pretends to cough once more, then raises his gun, still concealed in the bag. “Scrunyun?”

 

The thief looks toward his partner in disbelief. Numbers doesn’t give him the chance to respond. He fires his pistol, hitting the criminal right in the temple. His knees crumble beneath him as he falls, landing with a delighted _thump._

 

Wrench looks towards the man’s partner, now stunned with fear. He has his own gun shaking in his hand. Wrench lunges forward, pretending to go for him, and the kid turns around, sprinting wildly in the direction of the highway. Numbers and Wrench share a wicked grin at one another.

 

The cashier, who still can’t seem to sort through what has just happened, is looking at Numbers as though he may shoot him at any moment. Numbers merely steps over the dead man’s body, carefully avoiding the blood now pooling around his head as though it were a halo. Numbers reaches into his wallet, sets down a twenty-dollar bill, and looks toward the ground while clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth.

 

“Sorry about your floor.”

 

As they turn to leave, Wrench gives the cashier a half-hearted salute as though they had just performed a simple magic trick. He jogs lightly to catch up with Numbers, placing a quick kiss into his soft hair. Numbers grins.

 


End file.
